HELENA: It cannot be, and you a god? I'll bow
Before your eyes no more!--say that it can!
ANTONIO: Not yet--not now. Haemon's suspicious, quick,
And melancholy: must be won with service.
And you are Greek, a name till yesterday
I never knew pass in the portal to
My father's ear, but it came out his mouth
Headlong and dark with curses.
HELENA: Yet of late
He oft has smiled upon me as he passed.
ANTONIO: On you--my father? O, he only dreamt,
And saw you not.
HELENA: Then have you also dreamt!
He looked as you, when, moonlight in my hair,
You call me----
ANTONIO: Stay: I'll call you so no more.
HELENA: You'll call me so no more?
ANTONIO: No more.
HELENA: Why do
You say so--is it kind?
ANTONIO: Why?--why? Because
Words were they miracles of beauty could
As little reveal you as a taper's ray
The lone profundity and space of night!